


Walking Away

by orphan_account



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Arson, Crime Fighting, Gen, Poison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-11
Updated: 2011-10-14
Packaged: 2017-10-24 12:46:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/263614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Robbie bumps into a woman in a pub, he has no idea where it is going to lead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Possible spoiler for the end of "Point of Vanishing" Series 3, Episode 3, references to Series 1, Episode 3 "Expiation" - avoid if you haven't already seen these.
> 
> A follow on from the end of "Point of Vanishing" and a new case for the boys.

The board outside the pub said that tonight’s entertainment would be provided by a group called Penny Farthing and Lewis sighed but he really needed a pint. Normally he hated music in pubs but he’d just left Hathaway “saying his goodbyes” to Fiona McKendrick and he’d felt like a voyeur seeing their silhouettes, kissing. He’d not meant to stay, only long enough to be sure Hathaway really did knock on the door and not bottle out, but he’d been transfixed by that scene until he shook himself and walked off towards the pub.

 

The pub wasn’t too crowded and the band wasn’t too bad, three men and a woman playing a mixture of folk, ballads, some of the stuff he remembered from the 60s and 70s, at least not the finger-in-ear-hole-wailing he normally associated with folk music. There was a fiddler, a guitarist, a bloke on penny whistles and the woman who sang and played an Irish drum sometimes.

 

He got up to get another pint, the first having gone down very rapidly. Elbowing to the bar, he suddenly heard someone say “Val! Val!” and just that name could cause him to turn very quickly, catching the arm of a woman standing very close behind him. Nearly half his pint went down her front and she jumped back with a swearword, brushing at her saturated jeans.

 

“Oh bloody hell – I’m sorry. Clumsy bugger, here…” he reached in his pocket and got her a clean handkerchief. “Can I buy you a drink?” She gave him a wry smile and said

 

“No thanks, I’m already wearing one.” He recognised her, the singer from the band and he tried to insist. “Please, I feel terrible about this.”

 

“No, really, mine are on the house anyway. That’s what the landlord was trying to pass me when you jumped out of your skin. Nervous kind, aren’t you?” She stretched past him to accept a handled pint glass, took a large swig and then continued to try and dry her front.

 

“I really am sorry, I ….” He trailed off, not wanting to say that the sound of someone saying his late wife’s name had taken him unawares. She gave him that crooked smile again and headed for the door, obviously wanting a smoke.

 

When they started the next set, the woman he now knew as Val took the microphone and said

 

“Yes, you get to suffer us a bit more, folks. No, I haven’t pee’d myself with excitement. This was that “unexpected encounter with a dark stranger” I was promised. Damn that bloody gypsy.” She winked across at Robbie and then started up on a rollicking song that got him tapping his fingers on his knees.

 

“Why was that lady winking at you, Sir?” Hathaway had done his usual trick of sneaking up behind Robbie unnoticed, but that wasn’t hard in this noise. “Didn’t have you down as a folker, Sir.”

 

“Didn’t have you down as a five minute wonder either, Sergeant. What are you doing here? I thought you and Fiona were …” the unfinished sentence hung in the air, Robbie realising he’d probably intruded.

 

“We said what we had to say and kissed goodbye – end of.” Hathaway said flatly and downed half his pint. The conversation was closed. “And who is your friend with the slightly flat A?” Oooh bitchy, thought Robbie.

 

“We just bumped into each other,” Lewis replied “Literally, I ended up chucking half my drink down her.”

 

“Ah, that would explain it,” James said judiciously. “I think you might need some refinement in your pick-up techniques, Sir, showering a woman in beer rarely work.” Lewis shot him a jaundiced look that said “and you’d be an expert, I suppose.”

 

“Well all I know is her name is Val and she was very nice about it, and then made a joke when she got back up to sing.”

 

The song finished and, applause forthcoming, Val thanked them and said “Slight change of mood now,” and launched into “Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone”, just her and the guitar and it was so full of longing and melancholy that Lewis felt the tears starting to prick the back of his eyes. Another Val, singing what he felt when he lost his Val. Hathaway leaned over and said

 

“Not a trained voice, but not bad at all, despite the A”

 

“Bloody know it all,” Lewis whispered back at him, grateful for the distraction. “And if you’ve still got my tenner, you can buy me another pint.”

 

They ended up staying to the end of the music, each for their own reasons, so they were slightly drunk and even James joined in when they finished up with “Didn’t we have a lovely time, the day we went to Bangor” which was so far outside his normal style that the two men ended up singing and clapping while sniggering at each other.

 

Val came over and held the hankie out to Robbie.

 

“Sorry, it’s sopping wet now.”

 

“That’s my fault. Sorry again. Can I buy you that drink now?” She looked around, then seemed to decide and pulled up a low stool.

 

“Ginger beer shandy, pint, handle, please” she ordered. She flexed her fingers and shook her wrists.

 

“The bodhran?” James enquired. She nodded

 

“I’m out of practice and I get stiff – my grip’s too tight.”

 

Her pint arrived and she held it up to them in a toast,

 

“Cheers, lads.”

 

Robbie responded, “Cheers, Val, isn’t it?” She nodded, offering no further information. He pointed to himself and said “Robbie Lewis and my colleague James Hathaway.” Val didn’t say anything but nodded to them both.

 

“How long have you been doing this, then?”

 

Hathaway excused himself to go to the gents and Robbie got the distinct impression that he wasn’t happy.

 

“With this band? Only got together recently, this is only our fourth gig.”

 

“Oh, were you playing in another band before then?”

 

“Yes, but not here.”

 

If he’d had her in the interview room, Robbie would have thought she was a somewhat evasive witness, she didn’t give anything away while appearing to be friendly enough, but despite that, he felt drawn to her. Was it because she didn’t come on to him at all? Quite the opposite, in fact; a few women did, God only knew why; or was it because of her name?

 

He took a covert look at her as she took another pull at her pint. Not over made up – less than James on some days but a fresh natural look with very clear skin, even though she must be just a bit younger than him. Yes, dark blonde hair with strands of grey in it – she didn’t colour it then, not vain. Her clothes were casual but suited her, in keeping with what she was doing tonight, a T shirt with sequins on it under a very old denim shirt worn open, like a jacket, hair up in a clip, big earrings … a nice look, he thought. Not pretentious, not scruffy …easy, yes, that was the word and slightly artistic. He came out of his reverie when James returned and sat with his arms crossed across his chest – definitely defensive.

 

“Is this your local then?” She asked.

 

“Well, we work nearby so we’re in here quite a lot.” She stood up and held out a hand

 

“See you around then. I’ve got to go help pack up the gear. Know how it is.” James nodded, he knew how it was.

 

Robbie found himself saying

 

“Are you playing here again then?” She nodded and pointed at the board on the wall where the upcoming entertainments were posted. He smiled and said

 

“What’s your other name?” She looked slightly irritated and he thought she wouldn’t answer but after a moment’s hesitation she said

 

“Ashton, Val Ashton, but most people will only know me as Val Bodhran – we’re a bit like the Welsh the musical community, you’re known by your instrument. Nice to meet you both” and she was gone, over to the group, unscrewing mike stands and rolling up electric cables.

 

“I think I’d better get you out of here Sir, before you propose to her,” James voice was slightly acid.


	2. Chapter 2

For some reason that he couldn’t fathom, Lewis couldn’t get Val Ashton out of his head. She wasn’t a stunner; she was certainly unlike most of the women who’d chatted him up in the last 7 years. Was it because she was so uncommunicative about herself? As a policeman was he just intrigued?

 

Hathaway leaned back at his desk, tapping a pen on his teeth and frowned across at his boss.

 

“If you really want to know, Sir, she lives within walking distance of the pub.”

 

“What?”

 

“That woman in the band – I know that’s what’s bothering you. I’ve seen you like this before.”

 

Robbie was nettled, probably because it was true and Hathaway sounded so superior – like he’d never mooned around after anyone! Like hell!

 

“How do you know, James?”

 

“Because I’m a policeman and I play in a group too. When we left the pub and were standing talking across the road, she put a few things in a van with the other band-members and then she went off on foot in this direction. So I deduce she lives nearby and doesn’t need a lift.”

 

“The boy wonder strikes again! Why would I want to know that then?”

 

“Because you want to see her again – it’s coming off you like sunburn.”

 

“Don’t be daft, man,” Robbie said but made a mental note of what Hathaway had said.

 

James made a wolf-howling sound and grinned at his boss

 

“Appeals to your wild side then, Sir - a more Bohemian type?”

 

“Shut up, James.”

 

“Well the group are playing again next week if you’re interested.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Hah! You did look at the board then!”

 

“Hathaway … shut up!”

 

“Should I come along and chaperone you then?”

 

This time, Robbie just gave him a murderous look and then got on with the reports he was trying to write.

* * * * * *

When Lewis walked into the pub the next time that the band was playing he caught Val’s eye and gave her a discreet wave before finding a table. Was it his imagination or did she keep glancing over at him? No, he must be imagining it; she’d been so tight-lipped last time.

 

During the break he didn’t know if he should go and speak to her or not but she solved that problem by passing close to his table and saying

 

“Hi. Robbie, isn’t it? Where’s your … colleague?” The slight hesitation raised doubts in his mind and he found himself saying quickly

 

“James? I don’t know – we only work together, we’re not joined at the hip,” then he felt as if he’d committed some kind of betrayal. “I can’t buy you a drink because you get yours free, right?”

 

“For now, but I must talk to some people at the bar – they’ve come specially and I need to encourage the punters. Later, maybe?”

 

He nodded, smiling, as she pushed through the crowd at the bar.

 

When they started their next set, they played a lot of Irish music which he assumed was for the group at the bar, but she finished that set off with “Me n Bobbie MacGee” and looked straight at him when she sang “holding Bobbie’s body close to mine”, there was no ambiguity – either she was an audacious tease or she meant it … or was it just showmanship?

 

At the end of the evening she started to pack up with the rest of the band and Robbie didn’t know if he should wait or not, so he stood up to leave. She turned and motioned to him with her hand, she’d like him to wait.

 

When she was seated at his table and he’d bought her a shandy, she leaned forward and said

 

“Sorry about last time, I was a bit nervous and jumpy – I think I might have been a bit rude to you and your friend. First few gigs in a new band are always like that.”

 

“That’s OK. So – how have the other gigs gone?” The word came out awkwardly but she smiled that lop-sided, slightly sardonic grin at him.

 

“Good, we’re starting to get a following, very important to have regulars but not get stale – see what I mean?

 

One of the Irish crowd came over and excused himself to Robbie, talking to Val.

 

“Will you take a blessing for your beautiful voice, girl mine?” He held out half a bottle of Bushmills to her. She gave him a sunny smile and slipped into dialect without missing a beat.

 

“I will so, fine man you.”

 

“Slainté,” he raised his pint to her. She replied by raising the unopened bottle to him, her pronunciation and the automation of her response a dead giveaway to the policeman opposite her.

 

“Slainté, a thousand good things to you,”

 

The Irishman patted her shoulder and bobbing his head to Lewis again, went back to his friends.

 

“That’s a nice tip … are you Irish?” She laughed and shook her head.

 

“Only by adoption, I worked in Belfast for a long time.”

 

“What made you come back, then?”

 

The shutters came down in her face and she waved a hand dismissively as she slid the whiskey into the pocket of her long tweed coat.

 

“Things, stuff … not important. And you, Robbie, what do you and James do so close to here?”

 

“We’re policemen.” Was he mistaken or was there a sudden fear in her eyes?

 

“Good steady work then,” she said, after a slight pause, “but distressing at times, no?”

 

“Can be; can be soul-destroying at times, but it has its moments.” She nodded and then finished her pint, standing up and finding her bag at the same time.

 

“Would you excuse me please, Robbie. I’m very tired. I’d like to go home now.” He stood up and put a hand on her arm, making her flinch.

 

“Can I see you again?”

 

“Sure. Any time we’re playing.”

 

“I meant … would you come out with me?” He felt like a gawky teenager. Val bit her lip and then shook her head

 

“Sorry, Robbie, but I’m almost Buddhist-like in my non-attachment these days. Nothing personal but – I don’t do dating.” On an impulse she leaned forward and pecked him on the cheek. “Sorry – you’re a nice man but, no.” She was out of the pub before he could say anything.

 

He went home, deflated and sad. What had he been thinking of? He’d not been out with anyone but Laura Hobson since his wife died and even that hadn’t gone according to plan – they’d ended up good friends but no more. Now this other Val had turned him down flat. Had he misread her signals? She’d seemed so friendly; a come-on even, until he’d said he was a policeman … what was her hang-up? Where was he going wrong? Women he didn’t want tried to get off with him regularly and the one he finally found himself fancying was self-declared unavailable. He poured himself a large brandy and sat brooding for a long time.


	3. Chapter 3

Lewis was in a foul mood in the office the next morning. He snapped at Hathaway, who responded with just a raised eyebrow before going to fetch coffee.

 

There was a long silence while James pretended to be getting on with his work and Robbie tried to concentrate on his expenses. The phone ringing was a relief, until they found out why. Hathaway took the call and made notes, then tapped his pen on the desk several times before saying.

 

“Unusual case just phoned in from the fire service, Sir. Arson attack in the early hours of the morning – we don’t get many of those in Oxford.”

 

“How can they be so sure it’s arson, so quickly?”

 

“A petrol bomb was thrown through an upstairs window. No doubt at all – it was arson, if not attempted murder.” Hathaway was frowning.

 

“Bloody hell, were there any casualties?”

 

“Just one, Sir, the sole occupant – Ms Ashton, Valerie Ashton. Uniform are at the hospital taking her statement now.” James was looking at him very directly. “Do you want me to come with you?”

 

“Where?”

 

“To the hospital, of course.”

* * * * * *

PC Patel met them outside the ward and briefed them on what she had learned.

 

“Ms Ashton came home from playing with her band in the pub, very tired, fell asleep on the couch and only woke up when there was a bang upstairs, the ceiling fell in on her and the upper storey caught fire. If she’d been upstairs in her bed she’d probably have died. As it is she’s got a fractured wrist, minor burns and smoke inhalation plus shock, of course. I did ask her if she had any idea who might want to do her this kind of harm but she says she has no idea. The doctors want to keep her in for a couple of days.”

 

“Thanks, Constable. I think I’ll go and have a word with her myself. James – would you go around to the house and have a poke about? Particularly look for a half bottle of Bushmills whiskey – might be in her coat pocket, or might be somewhere downstairs.” He dropped his voice and added “And if you can find any clues as to her past, grab that too – I’ve had enough of this “mystery woman” business.”

 

Val Ashton was lying in a bed on the ward, very pale, one hand in plaster and the other bandaged. Her face was covered in cuts and bruises and she looked exhausted. An oxygen tube was fixed under her nose and a drip attached to her bandaged hand.

 

Robbie drew the curtains around the bed, pulled up a chair and said

 

“Hello Val, remember me?”

 

She gave a wan smile and said

 

“Robbie the copper.”

 

“That’s right. How are you feeling, then?”

 

“Like a ceiling fell on me.”

 

“Well, you would. Do you feel up to talking a bit?”

 

“I already told the policewoman. I was asleep downstairs, Praise Be, and then the upstairs went bang and then it all went weird until the ambulance and firemen came and got me out.”

 

“You must have some idea who’d want to do this to you, Val?” She did her best to shake her head although it obviously hurt.

 

“No, not a one. Why would you think I would?”

 

“Well to be honest, you don’t fit the normal profile of an arson victim. You’re not a minority, or handicapped and you’re new in the neighbourhood – unless you’ve already managed to antagonise your neighbours to the point of trying to kill you?”

 

Val stayed silent, so Robbie continued “It’s got to be connected in some way with something in your past. So do you want to tell me about it?”

 

She turned her head away and sighed. “No. I don’t – I don’t want to talk to you at all. Go away please.” Robbie stood up.

 

“Alright then, but we’re going to have to talk again. We’ll need you to help us with the enquiry.”

 

“I don’t want to press charges,” she snapped.

 

“That doesn’t come into it, Val. Whoever threw a petrol bomb into your house committed a crime. You’re only the victim – the offence is against the law. So whether you like it or not, you’re the chief witness.” When she didn’t reply, he continued, “Just one thing – did you recognise that man who gave you the whiskey last night?”

 

Val shook her head, “No, I didn’t. I’ve never seen him before, he was just someone who appreciated the band - it happens. Now could you leave me alone, please?”

 

* * * * * *

 

The two detectives met up for lunch at a café and exchanged notes.

 

“I’ve never seen anyone with no past before,” James said. “Everything in the place was new, apart from her clothes and there’s very little left of them. No photos, no papers apart from recent bills and her lease agreement. Nothing in her handbag, it’s like she didn’t exist before she came to Oxford three months ago. Apart from her music, she paints, no signs of other interests. There weren’t even any ornaments or books in the place.”

 

“She doesn’t want to give anything away. I found out that she worked in Belfast but now she won’t speak. Did you find the bottle of whiskey?”

 

“Yes, as you said, in her coat pocket. How did you know about that, Sir?”

 

I saw her get it as a present from an admirer. Was it opened?”

 

“Ah, so you did go to the pub then. No it wasn’t. I’ve sent it to forensics for dabs and analysis. Who gave it to her?”

 

Robbie reflected and then said “An Irishman, quite tall, well-built, about forty-ish, going very thin on top. And what you say ties in with something she said – almost Buddhist-like in my non-attachment these days.”

 

“Meaning the non-attachment is a new thing for her. She’s re-invented herself.” It was a statement, not a supposition.

 

“Looks like it. I want to find out what happened in Ireland. I don’t like arson on my patch.” Robbie finished the last of his sandwich and wiped his mouth.

 

James sipped the last of his coffee and glanced across at his boss.

 

“Must be a bit tough on you, Sir,” Hathaway continued, looking past Robbie’s head to avoid eye contact.

 

“No idea what you’re talking about, Hathaway – I only met her in a pub, it’s not like I know her well, or she’s a friend.”

 

The raised eyebrow spoke volumes but Robbie just continued in a brisk voice “I want uniform down to the pub asking about the group of Irishmen who were in there last night. I want to find that bloke who gave her the bottle.”

 

“That stinks of premeditation, Sir – who goes around with an unopened half bottle of whiskey in his pocket, unless it was his emergency rations for after the pub shut.”

 

“Or he was given it by someone else to give to her. I also want house to house on her street – anyone suspicious hanging around, someone must have been watching to know her habits. The bedroom wasn’t chosen randomly – although there is only one bedroom.”

 

“Which, Sir, makes it attempted murder if that bottle comes back as doctored. Someone deliberately tried to make sure she’d be in her bedroom when the petrol bomb was thrown. If she hadn’t fallen asleep on the sofa, she’d be dead. How did she get the burns?”

 

“According to PC Patel, she woke up under a load of debris, some of which was burning and was disorientated so blundered about for a while trying to find her way out. The firemen broke in and rescued her.”

 

“Shame about her wrist, Sir – she won’t be playing the bodhran for a good few weeks.” Hathaway obviously felt sympathy for a fellow-musician however much he disapproved of a female trying to get her claws into his Boss.

 

“Good point – we’ll need to speak to her again. I’d like you to do it this time, James. I was getting the stone-wall treatment, perhaps you could get her talking about music and see if she let’s anything slip. Ask her if she has anywhere to go as well – if she’s only been in Oxford for three months after a long spell in Belfast, she might not have any friends to go to. Finding her somewhere might make her feel obligated.”

 

“That is, Sir, if one word of what she’s told you so far is true. We can’t even be sure that Valerie Ashton is her real name, or that she genuinely did live in Belfast.”

 

“That much I know is true – either that or she is from there – the way she switched voices to talk to that “admirer” in the pub was too smooth. Or alternatively, she’s a better actress than most on the telly.”


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, Hathaway went to the hospital in the afternoon, blending in with the other visitors. She was sitting up in bed, propped up but still on drips and an oxygen tube.

 

“Hello Valerie, do you mind if I sit down?”

 

“Yes, I do – so sod off. I told your mate yesterday, I don’t know anything and I don’t want another police interview.”

 

“Actually, I wanted to talk about music; you see, I play guitar in a group and I was interested by what you did in the pub. Some of it was a Celtic/rock fusion – have you heard of the French group Manau?” When she nodded slightly he went on, “Are you sure I can’t sit down – I’ve brought you a coffee, I know they don’t serve it on the wards, I’ve been in here myself.”

 

Grudgingly she tried to wave a hand at the chair and then winced in pain.

 

“I really liked that song they did “Vallée de Dana”, the video that went with it was a bit crap though.”

 

“Well it was meant to appeal to the Breton nationalists,” she commented, unable to resist talking about her subject.

 

“Really? I didn’t know that,” James replied. “Educate me.”

 

Valerie sighed and, almost despite herself explained about the deep-rooted resentment prevalent in all the Celtic nations against what they see as oppression by the English in the case of Ireland, Scotland and Wales or by the French in the case of Brittany. Any song that harks back to the romantically idealised Golden Age of warrior poets and noble bards, stirs things up in their souls.

 

“Oh I see,” James said “Sort of like the English always getting a lump in their throats when they hear Land of Hope and Glory or Rule Britannia? Here, are you going to be able to manage your coffee with your hands out of action?”

 

She tried to take the plastic goblet from him but winced again so James very carefully held it to her lips. This was good; he’d played on her emotionally with the music and now got in close physically through helping her with something she couldn’t manage alone. This boded well for a bit of surreptitious questioning.

 

“Thanks,” she looked both relieved to have the coffee and embarrassed at her helplessness. Gratitude didn’t come into it. “Could murder for a cigarette, though,” she added.

 

“Can’t help you there … perhaps when you are allowed out of bed? So,” James continued conversationally “What made you choose Oxford?”

 

“I was a student here and I got offered a teaching job.”

 

“Oh that’s interesting, do you teach music?”

 

“No, English and Drama but the funding for the job fell through just before I was due to start, bloody cut backs.”

 

“So you aren’t working at the moment? That must be tough, new to the area and unemployed.”

 

She looked guarded and said “I’m OK” then nodded down at her hands “I’ll obviously be on sickness benefit for a few weeks now.”

 

“That’s something I was going to ask you. Is there anyone you can go and stay with because your house isn’t habitable? I’m afraid you’ll be looking for a new rental when you get out of here. No old college friends, sorry, what College did you go to?”

 

“Trinity and no, it was a long time ago; I’ve lost touch with them all now. I’ll see if one of the guys in the band can suggest anyone, I suppose.”

 

James stood up and said “Well, it’s been great chatting with you, Valerie. If you need any help finding somewhere to stay, give me a ring, I’ll see if I can help.” He handed her his card and then noticed a bottle on her bedside table. “Would you like me to pour you some apple juice before I go?” He was polite compassion personified in this mode. Val shook her head.

 

“It’s not really mine. I don’t even like apple juice, it’s too sweet. One of the nurses brought it to me this morning. Said a patient was going home and didn’t want it, he wondered if I’d like it.” James noticed that the bottle was still full and alarm bells rang in his head.

 

“Which nurse was that then?” Val looked around the ward

 

“I don’t know – I haven’t seen him since. Shouldn’t be hard to find, he’s the only male nurse I’ve seen on the ward.” Now the alarm bells were clanging very loudly. He got out his handkerchief and picked up the bottle.

 

“Do you mind if I take this away with me, Valerie? I’d rather you didn’t drink it.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because somebody tried to blow you up and I think someone is now trying to poison you. I want to take the apple juice for analysis. I really think you might give some thought as to who might want you dead, Valerie, because we know that you know something and this isn’t going to stop unless you tell us.”

 

He left her with her eyes closed, biting her lip.

 

On his way out of the ward, James stopped to speak to the staff nurse. There were no male nurses on that ward, as he’d suspected. He asked how long Ms Ashton might be kept in and was informed that she’d be there at least another day, being allowed home the day after tomorrow at the earliest. He thanked her and walked out of the building, still holding the bottle in his handkerchief and fumbling for his phone.

 

********************************************

 

Before they went home for the evening, James and Robbie compared notes and tried to consolidate what they really knew about the woman calling herself Val Ashton.

 

“She’s lying through her teeth, Sir” James said, perched on the edge of his desk and reading from his notes. “She claims to have studied English AND Drama at Trinity but that can’t be true.”

 

“Why’s that, then?” Robbie looked up from his computer.

 

“Well, Sir, when I was up at Cambridge, I met people who had chosen to be there instead of Oxford purely because it was impossible to do English and Drama at Oxford, only English. So she’s lying about that.”

 

“The address she gave on her leasing agreement turns out to be false too. She said she lived at Elmwood Road – no such place, Elmwood Street or Elmwood Mews but not Road.” Robbie added. “But I’d bet my pension that she did study Drama somewhere – you only had to look at her with the band.”

 

“That’s true, Sir – she’s got what they call “stage presence”, rare enough in trained people, almost non-existent in amateurs.”

 

“There has to be some truth in there somewhere, James,” Robbie said, rubbing his face with his hands. “People always link back to something in their real life, even if they do it unconsciously.”

 

“That’s true – psychologically they can’t let go of their personality completely, so they’ll keep the same initials, or their mother’s maiden name or their best friend’s first name … anything to avoid totally disappearing forever. Also they can’t disassociate from places entirely either. She told me she studied at Trinity College Oxford – but she could be transposing Trinity College from somewhere else. I’ll have a look and see what Trinity Cambridge or Dublin offer in English and Drama – she also said she was going to teach so I’ll check for B.Ed and Dip.Ed courses around about the time she would have been 18 to 24 or so, looking for the initials V.A. Should I check with the Education authority about that teaching job she said had been cancelled due to cut-backs?”

 

Robbie nodded then leaned his chin on his hands and said

 

“So she may have the initials VA, she definitely was Drama trained and she is either from Belfast or lived there for a long time and she’s been doing that kind of music for a while too.”

 

“How do you make the Belfast connection stick, Sir?”

 

“The way she clicked into it so easily. It was automatic; she spoke to that bloke in the pub like she lived next door to him. No luck with the enquiries at the pub, by the way. Uniform found nobody who could recognise any of the Irish gang in the pub, apart from a local florist and he said he didn’t know the chap who gave her the whiskey.”

 

“Too early for results on that yet?” James guessed. Robbie shook his head.

 

“Got an early result – the bottle had been opened and re-sealed with a spot of glue or nail varnish and first analysis showed enough of a tranquiliser to knock out a rhino, probably a benzodiazepine which means if she’d drunk enough of that whiskey, she could have stopped breathing anyway, so they meant business.”

 

“I dropped the bottle of apple juice down to the lab and asked them to put a rush on it.”

 

“Good, there was no fingerprints match on the whiskey bottle – we’ll need to get Ms Ashton’s prints for the apple juice bottle and we’re going to have to put the fear of God into Ms. Val Ashton to get her to talk to us. What do you think about that, James?”

 

“She strikes me as resigned to her fate – she ought to be scared out of her wits with people trying to blow her up or poison her but it’s almost as if she’s been expecting it. She seems more scared of us than she is of the people trying to kill her.”

 

Robbie stared across at his Sergeant

 

“That’s it, James – that’s why she cut and ran like a scalded cat when I told her I was a policeman!”

 

“When was that, Sir?” James asked mildly.

 

“When I asked her …” Robbie didn’t finish the sentence when he realised he was about to admit to asking her out. “Anyway, it came out that we were both policemen and she dashed off like I’d shot her.”

 

“Bad experience with the police in the past? Or is she on the run from something? Could be she was mixed up in something criminal and dropped out – her ex friends are trying to shut her up. Whatever it is we need to know, what do you suggest, Sir?”

 

“Well if it means bringing her in for questioning with the threat of being arrested for obstructing a police enquiry, then I’ll do that, but I’d prefer her to volunteer the information. We’ll get more reliable stuff from her if she does it off her own bat. I’ll go and see her again tomorrow. Fancy a pint, Sergeant?


	5. Chapter 5

Robbie woke up in the night having dreamed about Val Ashton and not in the way he would have thought a few days ago.

 

She was expecting this, Hathaway had said so. She was resigned to it. Witness protection – that could be the answer. He’d seen this before with that horrible case of the woman who, as a child, cut off her baby brother’s hands. People who’d changed their identity lived in constant fear of being discovered. He ran through the reasons she might have had to go to all the trouble of becoming Val Ashton. There weren’t many – running away from a violent marriage, in trouble with the law or a threatened witness … those were the only ones he could think of as feasible.

 

He made a note to do two things – get permission from Innocent to check up on witness protection and to confront the woman with what they already knew. He’d also take her photo if she’d let him and get Hathaway to check it out on police files. No, sod that, he’d get her photo even if she didn’t like it.

 

Jean Innocent wasn’t very keen on the idea of asking for her name from Witness Protection.

 

“Have you any idea how cagey Scotland Yard is about this kind of thing? The whole fabric of the WPS is that nobody but nobody knows about the new identity and they have to have rock solid and essential need before they reveal anything,” she explained, leaning across her desk as if speaking to a child.

 

“Well I would have thought attempted murder was pretty essential, Ma’am.” Robbie’s expression was blank.

 

“Are you quite sure of this?”

 

“A petrol bomb and then fruit juice that was laced with sedatives – don’t think it gets more conclusive than that – the results of the apple juice were on my desk this morning.”

 

Jean Innocent pulled at her earlobe for a moment and then slapped a hand on the desk

 

“Alright, Robbie, send me all the details through in a mail and I’ll get onto the WP people. If I can convince them it’s serious, they’ll let me know. Is that all?”

 

Hathaway was on the phone when Robbie got back into their office and he waved a hand over at the coffee sat on his Boss’ desk. Robbie got on with collecting all the evidence gathered so far, to hand on to Innocent.

 

“Right, so she went off the scene about 9 months ago, you say? Could be, yes, do you remember her name at all? Did she work? Could you do that for me? Thanks a lot, Sean, I owe you one. If I can find a photo I’ll fax it over to you, give me your number. Right, yes, will do, Bye, then.” He clicked off his phone and looked smug.

 

“Go on then,” Robbie said.

 

“A contact of mine in Northern Ireland – he plays in a group similar to ours and he knows a lot of people on the music scene over there, so I thought I’d sound him out about any female singer and bodhran player who might have dropped out of sight in the last year. Only one he couldn’t place – you know, moved away, had babies, etc … he’s going to ask around. If we can get a photo I’ll send it to him and see if that was our mystery woman.”

 

“Good idea, James, and I’ve just got Innocent to get onto WPS – it suddenly struck me that she could have changed her identity for her own safety, in which case she wouldn’t tell us.”

 

“Well, all I can say, Sir, is that it isn’t working – someone has found out who she really is … and they want her dead.” They exchanged a grim look. “But surely, Sir, if she was on WPS she’d have contacted her Civil Service minder to flag it up?”

 

“She seems to have no big opinion of policemen, perhaps she thinks she can do it better alone.”

 

“In which case, Sir, we’d better be there when she is released from the hospital, or she’ll make a run for it, maybe hoping to start up again somewhere else.”

 

“Yes, you have a point, Sergeant. I think I’ll go over there this morning and have another go at her.”

 

“Would you like me to come with you?” Robbie turned around and saw the look on James’ face. He was …jealous? Protective? Both? Robbie sighed and replied

 

“OK, James, I think you could profitably get the CCTV tapes from the hospital and see if we can identify that fake male nurse who gave her the apple juice yesterday morning. Oh – and I might need you with that magic gizmo of yours to take her photograph. Could you do it without her knowing?”

 

“Yes, Sir, pretend to be making a call and catch her while she’s talking to you, couldn’t be easier.”

 

“Well it’s not strictly within limits but I’m getting a bit fed up of this game of hers.”

 

“That’s a pity, Sir, you seemed rather keen before.” Robbie gave him a withering look.

 

“No, it’s alright James; you’re still the only significant other in my life! Which says a great deal about my social life, or lack of one.” They left the office, Hathaway two paces behind his Boss, hands in his pockets, grinning from ear to ear.

 

*********************

“We know you’ve tried to cover your tracks, and we know you’re lying to us,” Robbie said as they sat down behind the curtains drawn around her bed. Their warrant cards had gained them admission to the ward outside of visiting hours and they found their witness freed from her oxygen line, with her right hand less bandaged than before.

 

“So what, that’s not a crime is it?”

 

“Actually, it is, if you’re obstructing a police investigation,” Hathaway informed her. “We could just charge you with that and take you straight to the station.”

 

“But we’d rather not have to do that,” Robbie added “Because you must have been through something pretty traumatic to make you do that in the first place. Walk away from your home, your job, your friends … why don’t you tell us about it?”

 

Valerie Ashton stared at them and Hathaway discreetly got out his phone, pretending to peer at it before snapping a quick photo and then turning his back to say “Can I call you back? I’m a bit busy at the moment.”

 

“If you realise that I’m trying to start over, then why SHOULD I want to tell you? That would defeat the object of the exercise.” She paused and sighed heavily. “Look, I’m sure you’re trying to do the best but I don’t trust policemen, I don’t trust anyone. I’ve got me, that’s all I’ve got, OK?”

 

Robbie jerked his head to indicate that Hathaway should go and find the CCTV tapes and when they were alone again, he continued,

 

“Yes, I got that impression when I asked you out. Was it because I’m a copper?” She lifted her bandaged hand and rubbed between her eyebrows.

 

“Yes, mainly,” she dropped her hand and gave him that crooked smile again “It might have been nice, if I were up for that kind of thing … which I’m not. Really, nothing personal.” Robbie was tempted to pat her arm but he just leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and said,

 

“Listen, Val, we can take you to a safe house. We can keep you out of harm’s way while we try to find the people that are doing this. Wouldn’t that be better than having to be looking over your shoulder all the time? They want to kill you. Won’t you let us help you? Hmm? Fair exchange – you let us help you, and you help us to find them? You can’t live like this for the rest of your life. However long that is likely to be.”

 

She stared at the ceiling for a long while and then sighed again, obviously fighting a decision in her own mind, then she rolled her head towards him and agreed.

 

“OK – I suppose what you’re saying is I’ve made a right bloody mess of trying to go undercover myself … and what have I got to lose? I go with you and get protection, or I get killed? You’re probably right, but do you know something, Inspector? I don’t really care; I’m tired, I’m fed up with it and maybe it would be for the best if they did get me the next time, for real.”

 

“Don’t let my sergeant hear you say that. He believes that suicide is a mortal sin and you go straight to hell.”

 

“Ah,” she smiled “a rale one… no bleddi proddi, him, yer man der” in her Belfast accent.

 

“Hardly, he was training for the priesthood before he changed his mind and became a policeman. So you can trust him, surely?”

 

She let out a barely-suppressed snort of laughter. “Trust a priest? Are you joking?” She didn’t go any further and Lewis didn’t push it.

 

“So you’ll come with us then?” She nodded and he stood up. “I’ll have uniform have an officer to keep a watch on you and then the two of us will come and collect you when you can leave. OK?” She nodded again. She was right; she looked completely exhausted and no wonder.

 

Robbie caught the staff nurse at the desk on his way out and asked if anyone else had been visiting or making enquiries.

 

“Only her brother, he dropped by this morning on his way to work, understood it wasn’t visiting time but asked when she might be out.” Robbie swore under his breath and asked for a description but the nurse was very sorry, she couldn’t remember, they were rushed off their feet preparing for doctor’s rounds. He thought for a moment and then asked for the name of the doctor treating her. The nurse was reticent but he insisted, “Look, nurse, someone has tried to kill this woman twice and if that man is who I think he is, they’re going to try again when she is released from here. So I need to speak to that doctor now.”

 

It took a couple of phone calls and a half-hour wait but finally Dr. Shasandi, a tall, slim, Asian woman hurried towards him. He explained the problem and asked if they might take Ms Ashton away with them now, as she was in danger; her would-be killers knew where she was and when she might be released. The doctor thought for a moment and asked to be left alone with her patient. Robbie assumed she’d be asking if the woman actually wanted to go with them.

 

He used the time to slip out to the corridor and text Hathaway to ask how he was getting on. On receiving the reply “Got them,” he texted back to tell him to meet them at the main entrance.


	6. Chapter 6

The doctor examined Val again and signed her out. She was given a prescription for painkillers and told to have her dressings changed in two days but to come back if she had any dizziness or blacking out, as she wasn’t completely free of the effects of the smoke inhalation. Robbie waited outside the curtains while the nurses helped her to dress. He’d phoned Innocent and asked for a safe house to be made available. She’d had no joy from the Witness Protection Scheme – if Val Ashton was on the run, it was without police knowledge. She also wasn’t very happy with the time being spent on this case – it cost money, a lot of money.

 

“Would you rather we just let her get killed and then treat it as a murder investigation, Ma’am?” Robbie asked mildly.

 

“That’s enough, Inspector. I can just about stand Hathaway’s clever-clogs approach but I won’t take it from you – understood? Make sure you wrap it up as fast as you can. I want that woman out of our hair.”

 

Robbie didn’t. He liked her – her sense of humour, that funny smile, her tough veneer on an obviously vulnerable interior … she reminded him of someone but he couldn’t put his finger on it. She’d obviously been massively hurt at some point and it had left her scarred and scared. She’d made it clear that it was “no deal” at the moment, but maybe, once they’d got the bastards that were trying to kill her, just maybe … Oh shut up, Lewis, he told himself, yer acting soft.

 

Val emerged from the screens, dressed in the filthy clothes in which she’d been brought in – they’d have to get her some more. He walked beside her to the entrance where Hathaway was standing outside, hands in pockets, smoking. Val turned to him as Robbie held the double doors for her

 

“Can I have one please? I’m desperate.” James obligingly got out his packet, took a cigarette and placed it between her lips before holding his lighter for her. She took a deep drag and inhaled, holding it in for seconds before puffing out, using the free finger-ends on her right hand to hold it. “Oh God, that’s better. Thanks, St. James.”

 

Robbie had been standing next to the large blue poles either side of the path to the entrance and he motioned the others to hurry up. An ambulance drew up in front of them and something struck him as wrong. Hathaway realised it at the same time and as he pulled, Robbie threw himself sideways, pushing and all three of them hit the shrubbery as a shot passed over their heads, ricocheting off the metal of the door frame. Val was screaming either from pain or fear. Another rang out and missed then the ambulance sped off.

 

Val was swearing fluently from the pain where her injured arms had got squashed between the two detectives. She was lying on the floor, both of them on top of her on either side, protecting her. She freed one arm and managed to recuperate her cigarette.

 

“Well, hell me buckos, form an orderly bloody queue – threesomes cost extra.” Both of them burst out laughing watching her calmly blow smoke out as she rolled onto her back, squinting up at them with that strange smile of hers. She mimed holding a phone to her ear “Hello, Mammy, ye’ll not belieeeeeeeeeeve me when I tells yer.”

 

“You’re a bloody cool customer, Madam,” James said as he sat up and turned to help her do the same.

 

“Ach well, you know how it is, lovely boy – after arson and poison, what the hell is getting shot at?” She allowed herself to be helped up. “And you, Boss-man – are you OK?”

 

“No,” replied Robbie “I didn’t get the number,” he pointed in the direction which the ambulance had taken, screaming away with sirens and lights going. “Everything on the road will pull over and give them getaway space.” He was already on the phone, telling all police units to drop everything and get after them.

 

“How did you know they were going to shoot?” Val asked, allowing Robbie and James to manhandle her to her feet without hurting her hands.

 

“Wrong entrance,” James replied. “We must have both realised at the same moment that ambulances don’t pick up or drop off here, there is a special entrance at the back for that. They were out of place and policemen don’t like things out of place.”

 

Making sure Val wasn’t injured any further, they all limped off to their car.

 

“Thank you both very much. I think I can trust you now,” Val said, hesitantly “You just risked your lives to save me. Listen, I have my reasons, but you won’t understand. Let me tell it to you in my own time and I’ll help you find these guys but … but … the background may take me some time, OK?”

 

“Fair enough,” Lewis said “but for the moment, we’re going to take you to the station while we get some things sorted out for you.” She nodded and begged another smoke from James.

 

“Better stop at the paper shop on the way,” she added. “Or this lad will have no ciggies left by the time I’ve finished with him.” She gave Hathaway a broad wink which he didn’t return, he admired her spirit but he couldn’t like her.

**********************

PC Patel came into the interview room with a tray of coffee and took instructions from Val on what clothes she’d like bought. Her handbag had been brought in and she handed over some money, her sizes and her colour preferences.

 

Knowing that Jean Innocent was watching from behind the glass, Robbie started the tape and said

 

“Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? What’s your real name?”

 

“Sally. That’s why I chose Val – Val / Sal, sounds close enough for me to react instantly. Sal Hennessy, nee Dennis - Ashton is where I grew up, small village in Cornwall, familiar enough for me to remember easily.”

 

Lewis and Hathaway exchanged glances – their theory on keeping contact with the past was correct.

 

“Are you divorced?”

 

“Not yet. Separated, I haven’t got around to divorcing him, and that will be complicated too as I’m no longer Sal Hennessy.”

 

“Is that why you ran away?”

 

“The ‘why’ isn’t important for now. Let’s just say that I was instrumental in getting my husband put away. I did the unforgivable and he’s now in jail. It will be his extended family and friends who are trying to kill me … as an example. In his circles you just don’t, ever, talk to the cops.”

 

“Are we talking Para-militaries here, Sal?” James interposed.

 

She just nodded.

 

“So do you know who it might be, if it’s his family and friends?” Robbie asked.

 

Sal shook her head, “No, there are hundreds of them, counting friends of friends. I don’t even know how many of them there might be. If they’ve sent in a whole cell it could be four or five.”

 

“Bloody hell, Sal, what sort of stuff were you mixed up in?”

 

“Me, Robbie? Nothing, I was working in a small theatre, organising a touring company that took performances around schools and playing in a group in my spare time. I was pretty busy on my own account. As far as I knew, my husband was just an electrician.”

 

“You must have known something!” James blurted out.

 

“I didn’t!” She exploded and would have thumped her fist on the table if she’d been able. As it was she kicked the table leg, furiously angry.

 

“OK, OK, Sal,” Robbie said “Nobody’s accusing you of anything.

 

They were interrupted by a uniformed officer tapping on the door and asking for Robbie. He came back in smiling broadly

 

“Against all the odds, they’ve got the ambulance! Apparently they stopped two genuine ones in the process, but they’ve got the two men in it, bringing them in now.” Sal’s veneer cracked and she started to tremble and asked for a cigarette. James offered to take her out to his secret smoking den, on the third floor balcony.

 

Her hands were shaking as he helped her light her cigarette and she had gone very pale.

 

“What did he do, Sal, your husband?” James asked quietly.

 

“I can’t tell you,” she whispered, not looking at him. “I get the impression you don’t think much of me now, but if I told you the truth, you’d really hate me.” She took a couple of drags and then turned to face him. “Why is that, then, James? What have I done to antagonise you? She pointed awkwardly with her cigarette towards the office window opposite. “Is it him?”

 

James didn’t respond. His face set into its most inscrutable mask and he blew smoke upwards, avoiding her gaze. She shrugged and gave him that crooked smile “I’ll just put it down to one of those personality clashes then shall I?”

 

Hathaway put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “You’re a witness, I’m a policeman, it doesn’t do to get too involved.”

 

“Nor your Boss either, “she said “No worries, Your Holiness, nothing happened. He asked me out, I refused. End of - I don’t do dates – happier with that information?” She saw his face relax and smiled again, that characteristic, one-sided smile.

 

“OK – well, count me out of your enemies, gorgeous. I don’t figure, and as soon as I can be out of here, I’m gone. You won’t see my lovely arse for dust. So could you make an effort as we’re going to be a bit close for a short while and you make me nervous. I understand you’re “fierce protective” of “yer man” … but, believe me, son, I’m not walking on your lawn.”

 

James relaxed and offered her another cigarette. She refused but gave him her crooked smile again. “Better get back to work, eh?” Hathaway found himself shepherding her through the sliding doors, his hand on her back, relieved and feeling quite amicable towards her.


	7. Chapter 7

Jean Innocent was refusing a safe house.

 

“We just don’t have the funds and I can’t justify it, Robbie. If she were on the witness protection scheme it would be a different matter and out of my hands… and out of our funding too. This police service just can’t afford it.” She laid her hands flat on the desk and stared him out.

 

“Well can we get her on the WPS?” Lewis asked.

 

“Not in the next 24 hours, if indeed she needs to be on it. As far as I’m concerned we have the two men from the ambulance, uniform are working flat out to match their photos with criminal records and the case is all but wrapped up. No more funding.” There was no talking to her; she was in what Hathaway called “her paper-clips mood”.

 

“What are we going to do with her then, Ma’am?” James asked politely.

 

“Entirely up to you two. She’s a big girl, I’m sure she can find a bed and breakfast somewhere – you can even phone up for her on the station’s phone bill.” It wasn’t often Jean Innocent was facetious and it underlined how strongly she felt about the matter. They left her office and had a private conversation in the corridor.

 

“Those two in the ambulance are very probably not the only ones involved.” James suggested. “And it is going to take uniform a while to match up their IDs and known associates. Then we need to find out when they entered the country and with whom.”

 

“Almost certainly,” Robbie agreed. “If we just let her go she’ll either run or get killed. I don’t think I can live with that, Hathaway.”

 

“Me neither, Sir … my place? At least she can smoke there.”

 

“Good man – I’ll go and get my overnight bag and something to eat. You take her home and make sure you go through secure procedures, draw the curtains; dim lighting, nobody goes near the windows, code-word for the door?”

 

“Innocent” replied James with a smile. “And don’t get Chinese please, Sir, it stinks the flat out for days. We’d better go and tell Val... Sal, don’t think I’ll get used to calling her that.”

 

Lewis gave him a sour look; he didn’t need to say anything. It had been her name that started all this.

 

Sal accepted their decision with no emotion, she seemed almost numb. She’d looked at the photos of the men in the ambulance and identified one as the man who gave her the whiskey in the pub and that had shaken her very badly.

 

“He tried to kill me twice,” she whispered “and I don’t even know the bugger. Never seen him before.”

 

Robbie tried to bring her back to normality by concentrating on the practical. She’d changed into the clothes that PC Patel had gone out to buy for her and collected her old ones in a plastic evidence bag. As she said, with an attempt at a brave smile that came out as a grimace, at least she’d kept her lucky denim shirt that she always wore for first gigs. It just brought home how much she’d left behind.

 

“Check under your car,” she suddenly said to Robbie as he was walking out of the door. He turned back. “Get back into the old security checks – under the car before you get into it. They’ve already shown they’ll use bombs …I’d hate to see you two get blown up.”

 

She was so matter of fact about it that James shivered. Lewis could remember the bad old days of the IRA bomb threats and he just nodded, pocketing the shopping list she’d given him – a toothbrush, a hairbrush and a bottle of the strongest Polish vodka he could get his hands on. As she said, she felt she’d earned herself a wipe-out.

 

James was struck by a thought when she brought home to him how serious the threat was and he rang down to the desk.

 

“Come on, Sal, you’re going to be a police officer for a while.” She gave him a quizzical look but he just smiled at her and held out an arm to guide her through the door.

 

Downstairs they got a uniform from the desk sergeant and he showed her to the ladies’. When she came out, adjusting her stab-jacket and stuffing her hair up into the hat, he nodded approval.

 

“That’s better. You see, Sal, people only see the uniform; they don’t see the person; they never look at the face. To all intents and purposes we’ll be a detective sergeant and a PC probably going to a crime scene or to a victim’s house. Even if they’re watching the station, they won’t pick you out instantly.”

 

“Good thinking that man! Hey, if you play guitar as well as you do this detective thing, we’re in for fun tonight.” The atmosphere between them had thawed considerably since the conversation on the balcony.

 

*****************************

 

Closing the door behind them, James left Sal in the hallway while he went into the flat and drew the curtains, putting on only the dim setting on the lighting before he brought her into the living area. Having changed in the bathroom, she brought back the uniform and then sat awkwardly on the sofa and looked around. Her eyes lighted on his prized possession, his guitar. As he was fetching beer from the fridge she said,

 

“Would you mind? I’d like to hear you.”

 

When Robbie arrived he found the two of them harmonising to the kind of music that James’ group played. Not being actual songs, Sal was joining in with a single “ooo” sound pitched so that it blended perfectly with the finger-picking on the guitar.

 

He unloaded the fish and chips he’d bought for dinner and said

 

“Bloody not that caterwauling again ……. Can’t you play something everyone knows?”

 

James snorted and it sounded like “philistine” but Sal said

 

“After … promise. Thanks guys, I really do appreciate this.” She opened the bottle of vodka and offered them a drink. James decided to go for wine and Robbie accepted a vodka-tonic from her. They ate in companionable silence and then Sal whispered in James’ ear. He raised his eyes to the ceiling and sighed but took up the guitar again. She sang one note and he gave her a chord. She nodded and they launched into all the old favourites she’d sung in pubs, James anticipating the chords … not difficult as most of them were three or four chord sets, easily within his talents.

 

Robbie was enjoying himself, even singing along to Blaydon Races and Wild Rover. The vodka bottle was more than half empty when he said

 

“Do you know “Baby, now that I’ve found you”?” Sal eyed him levelly

 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? It’s probably been an “our song” at some time.” Robbie nodded and then asked again, so she gave James a shrug and the first note. She could work out why Lewis looked sad, but she couldn’t figure out Hathaway’s wry smile at the chorus

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EvKtxTsVoMo&feature=related

 _Baby now that I found you I won’t let you go,  
I’ll build my world around you  
I need you so, Baby, even though  
You don’t need me, You don’t need me._

 

They’d lost the mood, so James put down his guitar and went to open another bottle of wine. Robbie looked over at Sal, leaning back on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought.

 

“What did he do, Sal? Was it just that he was involved in a Paramilitary group?” She shook her head and sighed.

 

“No – worse than that - much, much worse.” She looked him in the eyes as James returned. “You’re coppers – what’s the worst crime in the world?”

 

“Child abuse,” James volunteered and it was out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

 

“Murder,” Robbie said.

 

“Ever stop and think that murderers and child abusers are someone’s son, father, husband? What do you think about them eh?” She was leaning forward, deadly serious, glaring at Robbie as if she hated him.

 

They were silent, so she continued “They’re victims too – just as much as the one who gets all the publicity. But what does everyone say, hmm? What do they get from the world in general? ‘Oh they must’ve known, couldn’t live with someone doing something like that and NOT know. Probably were in on it.’ That’s what you get.” She was spitting out the words as if they were poison in her mouth.

 

James was transfixed with horror; he knew what she was going to say and what effect it was going to have on him, the memories it might drag up.

 

“Well I’m here to tell you, my fine lads, that it IS possible. You can live with a man for years, share his bed, make his meals, think you know him as well as you know yourself and have NO BLOODY IDEA what is going on in his head. You can come home from work one day and find your entire world has crashed down around your ears and you didn’t know a bloody thing. You go from bumping along quite happily into total free-fall in five minutes or less. And it’s a kind of death. Something big dies inside you and you want to throw yourself under the nearest truck.” She grabbed her glass and downed the rest of her vodka in one go.

 

There was a silence that was almost palpable. Robbie moved across to the sofa and sat down next to her so she was sandwiched between them both, maybe hoping the physical closeness would be a comfort.

 

“Have you ever told anyone else about it, pet?”

 

“No – only the police when I found out - before I went home to get my jaw broken. That’s why my face is wonky.” Despite the revulsion he’d felt when she was talking about her husband, James’ innate compassion broke through.

 

“Not, wonky, Sal – interesting” he said, eliciting that lop-sided smile which was now explained.

 

“Come on, pet, let it all out. You’ve been keeping it bottled up too long.” Robbie was pouring her another drink, if it meant getting her blind drunk to get the story out of her, well, so be it.

 

She sat between them and stared straight ahead, as if terrified of seeing their reactions and told the story from beginning to end without stopping, hardly pausing for breath. It was as if she’d breached a dam and nothing would hold back the flow any more.

 

“Matthew and I sort of led separate lives. He had his job and went to the pub with his mates, but he wasn’t a drunk. I had my job and then in the evenings I had my kids’ theatre group and my music. There was a young girl; I think she was 11 at the time, and a good girl, not one of those baby-tarts you see around; serious kid, used to come around to do her homework because it was too noisy over the road in her house. Suddenly one evening I realised that she followed me around; if I went into the kitchen she came with me, if I went to the bog she came and stood outside. I asked her if there was something wrong.” Sal gulped more vodka down and her voice went hoarse; she was holding back tears.

 

“I took her upstairs and asked her directly why she didn’t want to be in the same room with Matthew. Turned out he’d been interfering with her since the summer, this was November. I wanted to go mental but she was scared. Frightened she’d be in trouble so all I could do was take her on my lap and hold her, telling her I’d make it alright. I had to be strong for her so I couldn’t go down there and rip Matthew’s bloody balls off, which is what I wanted to do.” She lit a cigarette and blew smoke out noisily, taking quick puffs.

 

“I went to see her parents and asked if they knew. They knew, they just “didn’t want to make trouble”, he was a neighbour you see, they knew his family. So that kid was going to grow up thinking that nobody cared, it was OK for someone to make free with her body because he was a neighbour. She was going to grow up with no self-respect at all … and I couldn’t stand back and see that happen. So the next day I went to the police station and shopped him.”

 

James was biting at his thumbnail, staring at the floor and trembling slightly.

 

“You did right.” Robbie said, patting her knee. “You did the right thing, pet.”

 

She gave a sharp bark of laughter that was anything but humorous.

 

“Oh yes, I did the right thing alright. I went to the cops. I got my husband put away. And I ruined my own life in the process because … did anyone else see it that way? Did anyone else see that I was laying down all I had to save that kid’s sanity? No, they didn’t. I got anonymous phone calls, I got sent to Coventry. And then the death threats started.”

 

“Surely nobody thought you were involved as well?” James was pale and his voice strained.

 

“Some did, some thought I was just looking for an excuse to get rid of my man. I had a complete breakdown, spent six months in a psychiatric unit. I hadn’t figured on most of the Ulster police being bent, were in the pockets of the U.D.A. the Ulster Defence Association, Proddie Paras. They let slip to Matthew’s family that it was me that shopped him.”

 

“Was your husband in the UDA?”

 

“No. He wasn’t anything, didn’t even go to church, never went on the Orange marches. But his family were. You have to understand … how can I put it? How many of the people you know are Freemasons, Robbie?”

 

He scratched his head and then said “Dunno, it’s not something that comes up in conversation. You guess sometimes but no, I don’t know.”

 

“Exactly. Well that’s how it is with the paras – everyone you know, will know someone else who is in one of them. And then there’s cousins, family, close friends. That’s how Matthew’s family have been able to organise this. And the paras will be happy to do it – they work by fear. Nobody says anything for fear of the consequences, and if some bloody Englishwoman can get one of theirs behind bars… and get away with it, then they are lessened. They take it as a threat. So I get dead and nobody else ever thinks of shopping them again.”

 

She leaned back, exhausted and holding out her glass for another drink.

 

“There, now you know, now you can really hate me.” She leaned forward, hunching over her knees and began to cry quietly, her shoulders shaking. Lewis and Hathaway looked at each other, helpless. James motioned to Robbie to do something as he stood up to go to the bathroom. Robbie put an arm across her back and rocked her.

 

“There, there, pet, I know. Life isn’t fair. It’s bloody unfair sometimes. But you got yourself up and started again. You walked away. That was the only thing you could do.”

 

She raised her head and wiped her nose on her sleeve – “Can I have another hankie please? Seem to make a habit of this with you,” again that crooked smile that made her more appealing than a perfect one would have done. Robbie’s heart ached for her and he reached to take her in his arms as James re-appeared. Putting his hand down again, Robbie said

 

“She did right, James, didn’t she? Tell her.” James took a deep breath and crouched down in front of her.

 

“One day, Sal, that little girl is going to realise what you did for her, maybe not now, maybe not til she’s grown up. But she WILL realise, and she’ll work out how it might have been if you hadn’t been there. A lot of abused children would give anything to have an adult that cared enough to put a stop to it, to stand up for them..” he choked up and stopped speaking, standing up to go to the kitchen area and get some more wine. He stayed with his back to them for a while.

 

“So you understand now why I have no faith in policemen.” Sal stated. “I had just one I could trust, the father of one of the girls in my theatre group, a fine man. He spirited me away from the nut-house and got me to the airport. One bag – that’s all I brought. I even left my skins back there.”

 

“Drums,” James translated for Robbie. “Must have been a wrench for you – I couldn’t leave my guitar behind for anything.”

 

“Oh you could, lovely boy, believe me – when the crunch comes, you can walk away from everything.”

 

“This time we’ll get you properly on the Scheme,” Robbie said. “You’ll be supervised and protected. Even we won’t know your new name or location.”

 

“That’ll be sad. I was just getting fond of you two – but there you go – almost Buddhist-like in my non-attachment. I can’t afford to get fond of anyone any more.”

 

She slipped quietly to one side onto Robbie’s shoulder and started to snore, so he laid her down on the sofa while James fetched a blanket to put over her.

 

“Looks like we get to share, James – pillow between us?”

 

“Definitely. And all clothes on.”

 

They left Sal sound asleep on the sofa and crept off to the bedroom.

 

“Poor woman, you’d find it hard to imagine, wouldn’t you James?” Robbie said, his face creased into a frown.

 

“No - I wouldn’t Sir, I’d find it all too easy to imagine.” But he didn’t elaborate.


	8. Chapter 8

James and Robbie woke up simultaneously, shot out of their sleep by the sound of crashing and a string of swearwords from the bathroom.

 

It being his flat, James was first to the door muttering “not the Allure pour Homme, please God, not the Allure” then he rapped on the door and said

 

“Sal, are you OK? What’s wrong?”

 

The swearing stopped and an anguished voice whimpered

 

“I can’t have a shower. My bloody hands are all bandaged and I feel filthy.” The two detectives exchanged looks and James backed off, his hands held up in the surrender pose.

 

“Your province, Sir, you were married - I’ll make coffee and find some plastic bags for her hands.”

 

Robbie took over the role of calling through the door.

 

“Sal – if you’ll let me help you, we can wrap your hands in bags so the plaster and bandages don’t get wet … how does that sound?”

 

There was a long pause and then she sniggered

 

“I have to warn you Inspector, I haven’t got any clothes on.” Robbie shook his head, grinning and replied

 

“Well as long as James’ precious aftershave is still intact you’re OK. Have you broken anything?”

 

“My will to live … no – I fell against the shower stall but it bounced.”

 

Robbie took the plastic bags and elastic bands that James was offering before rushing back to the kitchen. He was most definitely uncomfortable with this situation.

 

“Well are you going to let me in then? The door opened a crack and her tousled head peeped out.

 

“Make sure the boy is out of the way – it could ruin him for life if he sees this. Oh God I have a hangover.” She was holding a towel in front of her, clamped under her upper arms and she backed away to let Robbie in.

 

“I’m not surprised. I’ve got a bit of a thick head myself this morning.” Robbie tried to pretend that it hadn’t been so long since he’d been in such close proximity to a naked woman and to be briskly professional about the whole business of getting her showered … but he was only human after all. It took a real effort of will to keep himself concentrated. She didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed, just grateful for getting clean. She looked at him over her shoulder and smiled

 

“Thanks, Robbie, I appreciate this. Ignore the “important little places” that’s above and beyond the call of duty, but if you could do my hair for me?”

 

They’d had to leave the shower door open and both the floor and Lewis were getting equally soaked. James would have a fit, especially when he found that it was his very thick expensive bathrobe in which Sal got wrapped as Robbie towelled her hair dry. She turned to him, seeming much more relaxed now that her story had been told and they hadn’t reacted badly towards her.

 

She laid a hand on his chest and gave him her cheeky grin,

 

“I was right when I said you were a nice man. That was truly sweet of you. Thank you.” He caught her hand and said

 

“Last time, you said, ‘you’re a nice man but no’ – has that changed at all?”

 

They stayed transfixed like that for a moment and then she raised her face to his and he was kissing her, holding her damp and fresh-smelling in his arms and kissing her as he’d wanted to for some time.

 

“Are you two alright in there?” James was rapping on the door “The coffee’s ready and we are going to be late for work.”

 

The pained howl he let out when they let him into the bathroom was enough to send them scurrying for the kitchen and the coffee pot, but at least his aftershave was still intact.

 

****************************

 

Hathaway was trying to not resent the ‘unutterable bloody mess’ in which his normally pristine flat had been left. He’d written an apology to his cleaning lady with a £10 bonus which Sal insisted on paying him back. Honour was satisfied.

 

In the car on the way to the station, Lewis briefed them both.

 

“Sal – you’re going to be on photos today – we’re going to start with the two men from the ambulance, get their records, see if we have any known associates and you can tell us if you recognise any of them.

 

James – you are going to find out when they entered the country and how – get lists of the flights or ferries they were on and we’ll see if we can work out if there were any of the rest of the cell travelling with them.”

 

“Unlikely they will all have come into the country at the same time,” James commented.

 

“I don’t know so much,” Sal chipped in “Don’t forget this is a hit, it’s not an implanted cell for a bombing campaign – they probably thought they would just take me out and leave. It got more complicated because I didn’t drink the whiskey.” She shuddered “If I had …”

 

“But you didn’t, pet, that’s what matters.” Robbie said and Hathaway noted the endearment without comment. What the hell had gone on in his bathroom, or even, perish the thought, in his shower?

 

“I’m going to get Ma’am to get onto WPS and see how quickly we can get Sal fixed up with a proper new ID… and location.” There was something unspoken that passed between them like a shadow.

 

“And of course we’ll be interviewing the two men from the ambulance. They’re up for attempted murder, firearms charges and theft of the ambulance … so we might be able to get them to give us something in exchange for a sentence in Northern Ireland instead of here in mainland Britain – we’ll tell them that prisoners have a long memory and all Irish are the same to them.”

 

Uniform had done sterling work during the night and had got the photos of the two men in the ambulance tied to their real names with a string of convictions in Northern Ireland. The Ulster police had been contacted but with Sal’s warning of corruption noted, nobody was holding their breath – they were relying on centralised computer records to find associates.

 

Sal sat at a desk with a PC, scrolling through photos until she stopped and asked to go back again.

 

“That’s him, the nurse at the hospital. Didn’t have an accent but that’s him.”

 

The uniformed officer smiled at her and said “Neither do you, til you want to.” She nodded, that was true.

 

“Jimmy Halloran – previous for armed robbery, GBH, and grievous wounding;” She flinched and said

 

“That would be a kneecapping or a punishment. OK – so we have three of them.” The PC phoned through to Lewis to ask him for permission to put an “all ports and airports” out on the man they’d just identified.

 

“Could be too late already, but no harm in trying, is there? So we’ve got the man in the pub with the whiskey, the male nurse with the apple juice. We need the arsonist… and any others who might be around.”

 

Sal excused herself and went up to the third floor balcony, needing a cigarette break. The start of autumn was turning the leaves brown and a cool breeze blew her hair back. She leaned on the edge of the balcony and blew smoke out. She was tired. She wanted all this to be over. Kissing Robbie had been a mistake – no involvements, no attachments, that was the rule now. Stupid bitch, she told herself. Have you learned nothing? She put her head down on her folded arms and wanted to cry.

 

“Mind if I join you?” Hathaway had that way of just appearing silently. She stood up, wiping her eyes discreetly. “Taking it out of you, all this. Must be bloody awful, after everything that happened back there.”

 

She straightened up, giving him her grin and putting her tough-girl act back on.

 

“I’ll live… Take more than them buggers to knock me down.”

 

He leaned back against the balcony, blowing his smoke out and not looking at her. “Drop it, Sal. I know. I’ve …seen this kind of thing in the job and I know how it gets to you. Better not to tough it out. That just keeps it locked in and you strangle yourself.”

 

She gave him a sideways look and sighed. “Thanks. I’ll remember that, James. Are you offering me a shoulder to cry on?”

 

“If that’s what you need, although I’m not usually known for my hugging abilities.”

 

“All the more generous then, thanks.” She formed a fist and held it out to him and when he didn’t understand she took his hand and made a fist, putting their knuckles together, she bumped their hands together intoning “Ally wally pal o’ mine, friends forever more. It’s what the Ulster kids say … it’s slightly less messy than doing the full blood-brothers thing.” James laughed and did it back.

 

“Although ‘forever more’ in our case won’t be more than three days, then you’ll be off to a new life, and a more secure one this time.”

 

“Yes, and out of your hair. You’ll be glad to see the back of me.” It wasn’t a question. “Look after that Boss of yours, he’s fierce lonely, that one.” She left the balcony before the conversation could get embarrassing.

 

The two men they had in custody were proving less talkative than the proverbial clam. It was hardly surprising, they’d both served jail sentences before and the retaliation from their own side if they talked was probably more frightening than another spell inside.

 

Jean Innocent instructed Lewis to formally charge them and have them kept in the cells in the hope of being remanded in custody the next day.

 

James had come up with the flight on which the two men had arrived on their false passports, still in their possession when they were taken into custody. He got a passenger list and was painstakingly going through it striking out names that were obviously not English or Irish. It was going to be a long job – the other members of the cell, if they’d been on the same flight, would have been using false IDs and it would mean going through the CCTV from the arrivals to get Sal to see if she could recognise anyone. He’d phoned the airport and they were sending the tapes by courier.

 

Once Jean Innocent explained the situation fully to Scotland Yard, they agreed to set up a WPS change of identity for Sal as soon as possible, so, she concluded, everything was progressing as rapidly as possible.


	9. Chapter 9

When the CCTV tapes arrived in the afternoon, Sal recognised a passenger as one of Matthew’s workmates, Barry Ellis. There was no doubt, he’d eaten at her table often enough. It hit her hard and Lewis took her down to see Laura Hobson as the nearest doctor available. He explained Sal’s history of breakdown, but not the reason and asked if there were anything that could be done.

 

Laura was sympathetic, took the dressing off Sal’s right hand and gave her a foil strip of four tablets.

 

“Here, that hand is healing up nicely. If you feel OK with it, we can leave the bandages off now and let the air get to it. Would you like that?” Sal nodded.

 

“You’ve got the pain-killers but I’m giving you a mild sedative – take a quarter now and a half at bedtime, see they’re scored in quarters … it’ll make you less stressed and help you sleep.”

 

“Thank you, doctor, you’re very kind.” Sal sounded so bleak that Laura gave her a quick hug and said

 

“Poor lamb.”

 

***********************

 

The PC who’d been doing the photos with Sal took her down to the canteen for a cup of tea so that Robbie and James could discuss the case in private.

 

“We’ve recognised four now.” Robbie said “The two in the ambulance, the fake nurse and the man on the plane, Ellis”

 

“So the question is, how many of them would come over just to kill one person?”

 

“And how to get hold of Ellis. Halloran will have run for a port or airport as soon as he realised the other two were caught, so with any luck we should nab him trying to leave the country.”

 

“If Ellis knows, he might run for it too,” James offered. “Otherwise our only realistic plan would be to set a trap.”

 

“With Sal as bait? No, James – I wouldn’t hear of it. And don’t look at me like that – can’t you imagine the bloody headlines? Witness killed in police set-up? I don’t think so. We’ll have to find out where they’ve been staying – send uniform around all the cheap B and Bs.” James left the office to go and brief the DC to start a search for Ellis.

 

Robbie went over to stand by the window, his hands in his pockets, jingling his change. He stared out, remembering how good it had felt to kiss Sal then reminding himself that she’d be out of his life for good very shortly. Bloody typical, Lewis, he thought to himself, bloody, bloody typical!

 

James had a rehearsal with his group that night so it was decided that Sal would go to Robbie’s flat and James would join them later.

 

“Do I need a chaperone then?” Sal grinned.

 

“No, but HE does.” James replied dryly.

 

“It’s procedure, pet – you don’t get left on your own with just one of us if at all possible.”

 

Robbie went through the same procedures as James had the night before, giving no snipers an easy target. They both collapsed on the sofa; it had been a long and emotional day for Sal and she was tired. Robbie put an arm around her and they sat in silence for a long while.

 

“This was a mistake, Robbie. I’ll miss you now; it’ll hurt all over again.”

 

“I know, pet, I’ll miss you too. Wrong time, wrong place, wrong person – couldn’t be more wrong, really, could it?”

 

She shook her head but despite everything they found themselves kissing again. Almost by unspoken agreement they stopped and moved away from each other, knowing that if they continued it wouldn’t stop there and that would be real madness.

 

“I’m sorry, pet.”

 

“No, don’t be – if it were all different …” she trailed off, not wanting to say something they’d both regret.

 

“Why don’t you pick out a DVD or something and I’ll get us a drink?” He suggested.

 

“Ach no! No drink tonight – I had enough to sink a bloody battleship last night. Cup of tea would be good.” They smiled and the moment had passed. She went through his film collection and chose an old Mel Brookes comedy that would take their minds off their various problems.

 

Robbie’s phone rang once to say that the man who’d pretended to be a nurse had been picked up at a ferry port and taken into custody which was great news. Robbie looked at his watch and asked Sal if she fancied a pizza which she did so he phoned up for a delivery, not wanting to go out and leave her alone in the flat.

 

When the doorbell rang for the pizza delivery Robbie went to the door and found himself confronted with the wrong end of an automatic pistol poking out at him from under the pizza box.

 

“Back up and stand by the woman.” The voice under the motorcycle helmet was pure Ulster and Robbie cursed himself for his own stupidity.

 

The man motioned with the pistol, dropping the pizza box and herding Robbie backwards. Sal opened her mouth and he shouted

 

“Shut it, ya filthy hoor. Ye’ve got this comin’ to yer, slag. I’m gonna kill the copper and then I’m gonna shoot yer in the belly an it’ll take ye hours ter die.”

 

“Don’t shoot him, he’s nothing to do with this. I’m the one you want, shoot me and get it over with but leave the copper alone.” Sal moved to block Lewis’ body with her own.

 

“Awwww touching that is. Pity ye never had that much care for yer man.”

 

Sal was suddenly furious and seemed not to care about the gun pointing at them both. “You go screw yourself, ya filth,” she screamed in dialect. “Yer man thar wuz a kiddie-fiddler an if thass yer kind o’man …yer dirtier than I thought. Devil take yer black soul and I’ll see yer in hell, ya gobshite”

 

James Hathaway silently blessed his habit of moving quietly. Hearing Sal’s torrent of abuse as he came to the open doorway, he crept up behind the gunman who was distracted by the screaming woman. He launched himself at the other man, catching his right arm first, forcing it down as he flung him to the floor. The gun discharged itself into the kitchen doorway and Lewis joined in the melee, adding his weight and fishing for the handcuffs in his pocket.

 

Once the man was lying cuffed on the floor and James was phoning for back-up, Robbie went over to Sal, stunned and silent, crumpled by an armchair where she’d dropped without a sound. He crouched down by her and touched her face

 

“Sal, Sal – look at me, pet.” She turned her head to him but just looked, her lips trembling. “That was an incredible thing you did there, pet. You were going to take a bullet for me.” She just nodded, in a haze of fear and shock. She started to shake and he took her in his arms, pressing her head to his chest.

 

“Shhh, it’s alright, pet, it’s all over now. It’s over. You’re alright.” James came over to join them.

 

“Hooper is on his way with a squad car. Can I get you something, Sal? That really was a very brave thing you did, quite stunning.” Robbie indicated the kitchen cupboard with his head and James went off, coming back with a large whisky for Sal. She gulped it down and said

 

“I don’t believe I did that. I must be bloody mental.”

 

“It happens, Sal – people react to a situation and then turn around afterwards and wonder how they did it. You were magnificent, really.”

 

“No, I’m not … I think I pee’d myself.”


	10. Chapter 10

It was late by the time Hooper had taken their statements. The uniforms had taken off the Ulsterman’s helmet and Sal formally identified him before he was taken away, still threatening her with all kinds of punishment.

 

Lewis looked at the time and then left a message on Jean Innocent’s voicemail telling her they’d be in a bit late the next morning.

 

Sal took the half sedative that Laura had given her and was shown to the bedroom while the two detectives helped themselves to a nightcap.

 

James noticed the wistful look Robbie cast towards the bedroom as he settled himself down in an armchair.

 

“Last chance, Sir. You wouldn’t allow me to let Fiona go like that.”

 

“Shut up, Hathaway.”

 

*************************************

 

Jean Innocent was in buoyant mood when they arrived the next morning but she still called them into her office for a dressing-down, almost on principle.

 

“So you nearly got your witness shot, Robbie? And you let her get between you and the gunman?”

 

“Not deliberately Ma’am.”

 

“And if it hadn’t been for the boy wonder here, I might have found myself minus one Inspector and with the newspapers breathing down my neck.”

 

“Yes, Ma’am.”

 

“I hope you are aware of just how lucky you’ve been.”

 

“Yes, Ma’am.”

 

“Well the good news is that Scotland Yard are sending someone to collect Ms Dennis this afternoon and she’ll be handed over to the Home Office to get her new identity and location sorted out. Not our problem any more.”

 

“No, Ma’am.”

 

“Well that’s good news, isn’t it? What’s got into you two? We’ve got the four men involved and I very much doubt there will be any more, the witness is going into WPS and we have a big plus mark for our figures. Aren’t you glad?”

 

“Yes, Ma’am,” they both said.

 

“Oh get out of here. I sometimes wonder what makes you two tick.”

 

Sal didn’t seem overjoyed when they told her the news. She went up to the balcony to smoke, deliberately asking James not to follow her, promising she wouldn’t run.

 

“I won’t, I’ve got to slip out for a while. I’ve got some shopping to do,” James grinned.

 

Robbie hadn’t promised, however, and he did follow her. Leaning over the balcony side by side, he said

 

“Come on, pet. It’s the way it has to be. You’ll be fine. You’ll get settled in somewhere else, find someone, make a new life. It’ll be great.” She exhaled a long plume of smoke and gave a humourless chuckle.

 

“Somewhere else, yes; settled in, yes; someone else, no; great – probably not.” She turned towards him and continued “I think I’ve learned my lesson, Robbie. No more chinks in my armour, let nobody in.”

 

“We never did get to go out for that meal, did we, pet?”

 

“Oh I don’t know, we managed fish n chips, and we nearly had a pizza.” They both laughed although it was a cover-up.

 

“Come on, it’s sandwiches today – see, I really can show a girl a good time.”

 

***************************

After lunch, James came back from his shopping expedition with a very large package in his arms.

 

“Had to go further than I thought to find this but here you go, Sal – a farewell gift from us both.” Sal was as excited as a child at Christmas but she needed help opening it, still hampered by the plaster cast on her left hand.

 

Inside the package was a brand new bodhran with a carrying case and a selection of tappers. She was nearly crying with joy as she ran her finger tips over the surface, picked up a tapper and waggled it between her fingers, testing to see if her right hand was strong enough to play.

 

“We couldn’t let you go without a …skin. We knew you lost your last one,” Robbie grinned at her.

 

“Oh you two! This is fantastic. What can I say? This is brilliant. Here, James, can you hold the baby for me? I can tap but I can’t hold it.”

 

She was short enough to just slip under James’ right arm, sliding her plaster cast across his back so he could hold the bodhran against her body. She gave a few tentative raps on the skin, then a couple of rim shots and then set off on a jig rhythm, alternating with a stamp of the foot now and again. Without warning she started to sing “Paddy McGinty’s Goat”.

 

“My, my, this place has gone downhill rapidly in a very short time.”

 

James looked over his right shoulder, over the arm that was draped across Sal’s back and just said, very coolly

 

“Hello, Inspector McKendrick.”

 

She sauntered into the office and said

 

“I used to be Fiona.”

 

“You used to be a sergeant.” There was an atmosphere, so Robbie and Sal pretended to be busy packing up her bodhran.

 

“Inspector McKendrick, this is your witness, Sal Dennis, for the moment.” The two women shook hands politely and Fiona looked at her watch.

 

“I’m on a deadline here, do you mind if we get straight off.”

 

“Not at all,” James replied, as if he’d be delighted for her to leave.

 

“Come on, pet, we’ll carry your stuff for you,” Robbie offered and they all trooped down to the entrance.

 

Sal got her new drum and her bag of clothes stowed in the car and then turned to them both.

 

“Thanks, lads, don’t know what to say to you, saving my life and all,” that crooked grin again. Robbie’s heart lurched and he said

 

“Fair exchange, pet – you were going to do the same for me. Well, look after yourself.”

 

“Hey, wonky-face, one more time, for luck?” James said, holding out his fist. She laughed and held her own out, bumping knuckles as they chorused, “Ally wally, pal o’mine, friends forever more,” then giggled.

“Ach, come here you big lump,” Sal said, giving James a hug. She turned to Robbie.

 

“Bye then. It’s been …”

 

“Yes, it certainly has.” Not even meaning to, Robbie hugged her too and said “Bye, Val.” She didn’t correct him and got into the car before she could cry.

 

They watched the car move off in silence and then turned to go back to their office, both lost in their own thoughts.

 

**********************************

A week later two packets arrived in their office, postmarked London. When James opened his, it contained a rare CD of some classical guitar music he’d wanted for ages and in Robbie’s, a home-made CD which he slipped into his pocket to listen to later.

 

At home that evening he pressed the play button and Sal’s voice filled his flat, singing Groovy Kind of Love. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oj6v-WPExa4&feature=related

On the disc, she’d written “I’ll never forget you. S.”

 

That would do. That was the best he’d get. His phone rang.

 

“Wondered if you fancied a pint, Sir?”

 

“Excellent idea, James.”

 

“Just one thing, Sir – no chatting up strange women this time.”


End file.
